


Drinks On Me!

by aiden_13



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiden_13/pseuds/aiden_13
Summary: Junker-Adventurer!Reader x Junkrat mini-fic. NB reader, SFW (except for a bit of swearing and suggestive flirting).





	Drinks On Me!

It’s been a long day. 

The sun is beginning to set above the horizon and you thank the heavens for small mercies. The heat dissipates from the air as fast as the scorching sun rays fade. You see a scraggy outcrop of rocks ahead in the distance: perfect place for a break. With a bit of encouragement, you urge your battered motorbike onward. 

By the time you reach the rocks, the air is cool and downright delicious. With a flick of your foot, the stand pops out and you’re letting your bike lean and rest. A quick circling reassures you that you’re alone and you finally relax, stretching out the stiff joints from sitting and riding all day. 

You unpack and settle down. A bit of foraging yields just enough twisted branches and bone-dry sticks for a nice small fire. You double-check the crate you’ve got strapped onto the back of your motorcycle: nice and tight, not going anywhere. Visions of gold dance in your head as you think about the profit these babies are gonna’ bring you. Junkers will pay coin for booze, but rumor has it the Queen herself would paid handsomely for specialty liquor imported (stolen) from the outside. 

Usually, you’d never risk building a fire but you’re feeling confident. There’s something about tonight that feels different: the air is (marginally) crisper and the stars feel brighter. Despite being a ragtag outsider, you’ve always enjoyed Junkertown. The Junkers made for vivacious, if not interesting company. And the thought of refreshing your rations and supplies definitely put an extra pep in your step. 

You rustle through your pack and produce a battered tin pot and a depressingly light sack. Normally, this would warrant a “tsk” but tonight, you’ll feast. Within minutes, you’ve got a nice little gruel going. Some precise rigging and you’ve got a few lizards to roast as an entree. 

You stare out into the distance, listening to the gentle snap and crackle of the fire, the sweet corn meal gruel bubbling away softly. Life is good.

Before your muscles could truly relax, you feel the skin on the back of your neck tingle. Before your mind could even register, you’ve got your shot gun in your hands, pumped and ready to shoot at the intruder. 

“Evenin’?” Came a nervous giggle. 

You blink, “Do I… do I know you?”

A tall man stands before you, looking a bit worst for wear. Despite the impressive amount of bombs and ammo strapped to his chest, he’s bruised and cut up all over. His left eye bulged out in a black and blue mess. 

Despite all this, the man puffs his chest out and looks insulted, “Do you… Do you know me? How do you NOT know me?”

You scowl, “Because I’ve never met you before?”

“Darl’,” he says, rather condescendingly, “I am a man whose reputation proceeds him. I am THE-”

You stand up aggressively, “I don’t care WHO you are or who you THINK you are. What do you want?”

He scowls back, “How the FUCK do you NOT know who I am?”

You feel a sharp pang of fear in your chest; this man isn’t fucking around. The bandoliers on his chest glint dangerously in the fire light. 

You raise the gun but take a step back, “Alright… who are you then?”

The man looks like he’s been waiting for this question his entire life. He throws his arms out in a grand, theatrical gesture and declares, “I am the INFAMOUS JUNKRAT!” 

“…who?” You raise a brow. 

He drops his arms to his side and balls his fist, “Oh come on! I didn’t get fuckin’ kicked outta’ Junkertown for nothin’!”

You struggle to keep the chuckle down, “You got kicked out of Junkertown?”

“Oh? You think that’s funny do you?” He snarls. 

“Well…. yeah, you got kicked out of the most lax city on earth,” you laugh, incredulously. “You can literally do almost anything there.”

“Lax?” He sputters, “LAX?! I can't get a bomb in edgewise anywhere with ol’ Queenie up my arse about it!” 

You lower your gun, giving him your most disarming smile, “She’s got a point there… Junkrat? You said?”

“The one and only,” he grins back, matching your charm with his. 

You take the time to look at him: underneath the soot and dirt, and despite the nasty shiner he’s sporting, he’s not bad to look at. Even though he’s a few meters from you, you can smell the smoke on him, that burnt charred smell… of… lizards?

You jump, “SHIT!”

He starts back, shocked, then realizes why you freaked out. 

You toss the gun aside and rescue the lizards from the fire and throw them on your pack to save them from completely scorching. 

You stand back up, dusting your hands, “Alright. So. We can stand around all day and you can be insulted with me not knowing who you are…” 

He crosses his arms, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “Or?”

“We can sit down and enjoy some charred lizard and corn gruel,” you gesture openly. 

The tall man slouches a bit and smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

You plop down onto the dirt and offer him a blackened lizard on a stick.

He takes it and plops down by you, “Thanks, mate.”

You watch him tackle the meat with ferocity, “You always do this? Stumble into people’s camps and get insulted when they don’t know who you are?”

He pauses mid-bite, “Only when I’m particularly hungry.”

You give him a friendly kick, “You could’ve just fucking asked!” 

He laughs and goes back to ripping another mouthful off the lizard. You observe him and his injuries: all the mottled bruises, the nicks and scratches all over his body. They’re fresh. 

“Got yourself in a fight recently?” You ask casually, but quietly your ears are perked. A knot of regret begins forming in the lower pits of your stomach: what kind of trouble could this one potentially bring?

He makes an awkward gasping noise, trying to talk and swallow lizard at the same time, “Sure did. Showed those drongos what for!”

You smile, eyes casually flitting around and behind his hunched figure, “What was the fight about?”

“Oh the usual,” he straightens up and takes a deep breath, “‘Oh Junkrat you can’t mod the mech with that!’ or ‘Junkrat you can’t throw that at the Queen!’”

You blink, “You’re a mech fighter?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “As if I’d be any of those hot-headed ego maniacs!”

You scoff back and raise a brow, leaning towards the fire to grab the bubbling corn gruel off the embers, “Alright, then what is it that you do, Junkrat?”

“I’m a mech mechanic,” he puffs out his chest and crosses his arms. “I’m trying to work me way up through the ranks right now.”

“There’s ranks?” You give a bemused smile. 

“Oh sure,” he nods emphatically, “You start off as a complete bottom of the bucket mechanic, doing stupid shit like polishing the weapons then you work your way up before they trust you enough to start unscrewing shit and putting shit back together.”

“And where are you right now?” You blow on the corn gruel and tuck in. 

Junkrat looks particularly proud of himself, hooking his two grenade straps with his thumbs, “I craft the explosives.” 

“Impressive,” you rummage through your coat’s inner pockets, before finally finding your flask.

He flicks his eyes up, interested, “Now, what do you have there, mate?”

You pause, meeting his eyes. You didn’t want to admit it. But the way he said it was slow, and low, like he was asking a dangerous question. And it made you…feel. 

You clear your throat and unscrew the flask’s top, continuing to give your best disarming smile, “I never told you what I do for a living, did I?”

“You certainly didn’t,” he finished his lizard and tossed it behind him with a laugh. “So, who do I owe the pleasure of meeting this evenin’?”

“Well,” you gently shake the flask, gauging how much is left, “My name is *Y/N* and I am you local, friendly booze supplier to Junkertown.” 

“Oh my,” he grins, leaning forward, “So I can thank many a wild nights and shitty mornings to you, huh love?”

You find yourself chuckling, almost missing the fact that he just slipped a pet name into that interaction.

“Partially,” you take a sip, “Lord knows Junkertown must use more than just me considering how much you Junkers drink like it’s your lifeblood.”

He holds a hand out. It’s a familiar gesture for you, a bonding ritual really with any stranger you’ve met. And honestly, it’s just good manners out here. You pass the flask to him, your fingers grazing his during the hand-off and you find yourself lingering a bit longer than you wanted.

You clear your throat again but he doesn’t seem to notice. He takes an appreciative sip and smacks his lips, a confused expression forming. 

Taking advantage of the situation, you lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “Not what you expect?”

“It’s… light, and uhm, what’s the word,” he’s scrunching his face in thought. “Delectable? No… delicate! It’s delicate tasting.”

Keeping the hushed tone, you grin, “Between you and me, I hate the way most liquor tastes. This is just my own personal brew.”

“I’ve… I’ve never tasted anything like this,” he’s taking another swig, trying to parse out the flavors and notes. 

“Yeah, you get bored on the road, you start mixing and blending your own brews,” you jerk a thumb towards your bike. 

“You travel alone or is this a group venture?” he gestures generally. 

“I work alone,” you shrug, turning your gaze towards the fire. You feel yourself drifting a bit. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I do,” you murmur.

“Wasn’t a very enthusiastic ‘I do,’“ he elbows you in the ribs gently and you’re suddenly pulled back, very aware of how close he is to you. 

You blink for a moment and put on another amiable grin, “Haha, I do, I really do! It’s quite fun and it’s a decent adventure most of the times.”

“And the other times?” He asks, softly, in that same dangerous, low tone from before.

“It’s… quiet. You’re by yourself a lot on the road. So it’s… quiet,” you reply, a bit more morose than you intended. 

“Well then,” he stretches his arms above his head, “Good thing I inconvenienced you and stumbled onto your camp, huh?”

You laugh, “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d have any dinner guests but this was a nice change of pace.”

He smiles then his frame shifts a bit awkwardly and his voice lowers, “Uhm, truth be told *Y/N* I wasn’t feelin’ too great when I did run into you. But this was fun. I needed it.”

“I think I needed this too.”

He takes a deeper swig from the flask before handing it back to you, “I’ll confess, I’m on my second strike with the Queen. One more mess-up and I’m not allowed back into Junkertown.”

“Ah,” your eyes flick once again to his bruises and cuts, “She can be a real hardass, huh?”

“And then some,” he scoffs mirthlessly, touching his black eye rather delicately, “But thanks, I mean it.”

“Of course,” you don’t really know what to do so you give him a gentle pat on his knee.

He flinches at first but relaxes under your touch. 

He clears his throat, a clear flush growing on his cheeks under all that dirt and grime, “So, uhm, *Y/N*?”

“Yes, Junkrat?” You smile. And it’s your real smile. You don’t feel the need to put up disarming pretenses. 

“Call me Jamie,” he grins sheepishly, “My name’s Jamison but no one calls me that.” 

“Alright,” you nod, “Yes, Jamie?”

“Were you just going to camp out here until tomorrow then head into Junkertown?”

“Yeah, that is the plan. Why?”

“Well, uhm, not that I’m shittin’ on your choice of accommodations but there are better places than outside at night in the Outback. It gets freezin’ cold,” he says seriously. 

You hold back a snort and solemnly nod back, “Ah yes, I hadn’t considered that. In all my years of camping and trekking through here, the freezing cold!” 

“So, I have a proposition for you,” Jamie opens his palms outwards like a salesman getting ready for his pitch. 

“Alright, I’m listening.”

“You should come into Junkertown tonight. Stay at my place, and come tomorrow morning you’ll be right there in town, ready to do business,” he says with a final, dramatic flourish of his fingers. 

“You’ll be alright with that? A stranger crashing at your place?” You raise a brow, still smiling ear to ear.

“Least I could do to pay you back for dinner and drinks,” he stands up and dusts himself off, before offering a hand to hoist you up. 

You take it, bringing yourself up to your feet, “Oh, my pleasure, really.”

He starts kicking sand into the fire and turns to you with a glint in his eyes, “Oh, I should warn you there’s only one bed back at my place.”

A shiver runs from the nape of your neck down your spine, “Well. You did say it gets freezin’ cold out here. We should make the most use of it.”

He stops, your matched boldness surprising him. He laughs a bit and says, “After a long work day tomorrow, will you have dinner with me again?”

“Of course,” you start packing up some of your gear. You flick your eyes towards him and with a leisurely softness in your voice, you reply, “Drinks’ are on me.”


End file.
